


To Love in Vain

by Rumaan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-15 06:19:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1294609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumaan/pseuds/Rumaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa can't help her jealously as she observes Jon and Alys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm basically blaming tumblr for this. Someone somewhere expressed a desire for more unrequited Jon/Sansa fic and this developed a few weeks later.
> 
> Again, unbeta'd so excuse any terrible grammar or typos.
> 
> Disclaimer: I'm not GRRM and I doubt Jon/Sansa will ever become canon.

Sansa looked down the high table and watched once more as Lady Thenn laughed loudly at something Jon had said to her. _Since when is Jon that funny?_ came the jealous thought that she quickly squashed feeling both ashamed and unkind. 

Alys Thenn had been the first person to make allegiance to the newly restored House Stark, bending her knee to little Rickon, and sending much needed supplies from the Karhold to Winterfell, burying the bad blood between the houses that had sprung up during Robb’s war in the Riverlands. 

Sansa was usually glad of Alys’ visits to Winterfell. Lady Thenn was often a valued source of practical advice since her own Wildling husband died at the Wall, leaving Alys with a newborn babe and a fractured people to rule. But she had admirably managed the integration of her husband’s Wildling subjects into Karstark lands. 

But this was the first time Sansa had seen her in Jon’s presence and jealousy had reared it’s ugly head at their free and easy way with each other. Jon never laughed that like in Sansa’s presence. Oh, he was kind and thoughtful, always looking for ways to make the running of Winterfell easier on Sansa, but she had never seen him look so carefree until now.

And she wished he would.

She couldn’t say when it had happened or why, but one day the unwelcome realisation that she was in love with her own cousin had dawned on her. Mayhaps, it the contrast between every suitor who came to Winterfell and wanted Sansa for the ties she could bring them, and Jon’s stalwart defence of Sansa’s right to choose whether she married or not, stayed at Winterfell or not.

And then Alys had told her all about the support he had given her at the Wall, defending her rights against her grasping cousins, and arranging a more satisfactory match. Sansa might shudder at the prospect of a Wildling husband, but Alys had laughed and said her Sigorn had been better than any kneeler that had come forward for her hand before or since. 

Despite pressure, Alys had not yet remarried. It was said she had a lover, whom she had stolen the Wildling way, and when Sansa, feeling emboldened by a shared skin of Arbor Gold, had asked her, Lady Thenn had grinned mischievously and refused to deny or confirm the rumours.

 _Mayhaps Jon is that lover?_ The thought caused the pit of her stomach to drop.

Sansa had heard the gossip about Jon, too. That he had broken his Night’s Watch vows for a fierce spearwife, and that whilst he had publicly turned down the opportunity to marry the beautiful Wildling princess, he had been seen slipping into her chambers late at night. But no manner of alcohol had ever given her the courage to ask him if the rumours were true.

And now he sat there, a large smile on his usually solemn face as he japed with Alys. 

Lady Thenn was also bright and bold. Practically a Wildling in her attitude. Fierce and unashamed. She was no pampered lady who adhered to all the courtesies and spent afternoons embroidering. 

Sansa blinked back the tears and turned to Rickon to check he wasn’t falling asleep in his trencher and smiled softly when she saw his head pillowed on his arm. He had stubbornly refused to go to sleep earlier, stating that as Lord of Winterfell, he should not be sent to bed like a child. The mulish set of his jaw had drawn a pang of longing for the stubborn little sister she had spent so much of her childhood arguing with. She feared the loss of all but Rickon would never fade.

She shook him slightly trying to wake him, but he just mumbled in his sleep, pushing her hand away. 

“Here, let me.”

She hadn’t heard Jon approach and smiled her thanks as he scooped Rickon up his arms and bore him out the Hall. Her eyes lingered on his retreating form and she startled a little when Alys slipped into Rickon’s empty chair with a friendly greeting.

For one horribly childish moment, Sansa wanted to turn her shoulder and ignore the other woman, but she steeled herself to respond with politeness, a false smile fixed in place.

\------------

“She’s in love with you, you know.”

“What? Who?” Jon asked, startled.

“Sansa.”

Jon laughed outright. “How much of that have you had?” he asked, pointing to the wine in her hand.

Alys stuck her tongue out at him, reminding him even more of Arya than usual. He wondered if it was this relationship that the Red Woman had seen in the fires when she had told Jon about the grey girl on the dying horse. That somehow Alys would become more like a sister. More like a sister than Sansa had ever felt like, even when they were little, and he was nothing more than Ned Stark’s bastard.

As was her way, Alys had snuck into his chambers with a wineskin, laughing at Jon’s fears that someone would catch her and slander her reputation by claiming they were lovers.

“I heard you knew nothing, Jon Snow, but I didn’t realise it was true.”

Ignoring the guilt that always hit him whenever he thought of Ygritte, Jon frowned. “I really don’t think you’re right. I mean, this is Sansa.”

“What’s wrong? Still think of her as a sister? Because I guarantee that she doesn’t think of you as anything like a brother. Her tepid reaction to my presence at the table tonight is more than an indication of that. She did not appreciate my monopolising your time.”

He rubbed his beard with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his goblet of wine. He trusted Alys. Trusted her a lot more than many other people, but he wasn’t sure if he was comfortable discussing Sansa with her. It felt a little like a betrayal.

However, Alys being Alys, she picked up on his hesitation and smiled wryly. “Don’t worry, Jon, I won’t press you to say anything. I’ll leave you the wine, I think you’ll need it.”

With a wink, she left his chamber and Jon to thoughts that he wasn’t sure how to decipher.

\-----------

When she was little, Sansa had always preferred the Sept and the religion of her mother to the Godswood. The Sept had been pretty, with statues, songs and incense, whereas the Godswood had been gloomy, still and silent, the heart tree with its eerie weeping face at the centre.

However, since she had returned to Winterfell, she enjoyed time in the quiet of the Godswood, sitting in the same spot where her father had spent so much time. 

Today, however, her feet stuttered as she saw Jon sitting there, Longclaw in his hand, and a pensive expression on his face. She would have turned and melted back into the trees if he had not looked up at her approach. 

“Sansa,” he said.

“Hello, Jon.”

“Where you coming to pray? I can move and give you some solitude.”

“No, it’s okay. I was coming more to think.”

He smiled a soft half-smile. “I’ve come here to do that, too.”

She wondered what it was that was playing on Jon’s mind and wished that they had built the kind of relationship where he could turn to her and share his problems. She knew there were times when she wished she could unburdened herself to him.

She moved to sit on one of the other tree roots. It brought her closer to the heart tree than usual, next to the weeping face and she outstretched one hand to caress over the sap tears that flowed strongly today.

“Sometimes I feel that there is something in there,” she said. “Nothing bad, just a presence that means me well.”

She turned to face Jon, who had put Longclaw down and was watching her. “You didn’t rebuilt the Sept,” he said. “It was the first thing I noticed when I came down from the Wall.”

“I found there was no point, not without my mother here. That was her place, and whilst I was south, I missed this place. The Godswoods there feel soulless somehow, as if there is something missing, and I realised when I was at the Eyrie, that it was a Weirwood.”

Silence fell between them and Sansa watched as Jon fumbled with putting Longclaw away, indecision written on his face, almost as if he wanted to say something but was not able.

“What is it, Jon?”

He looked up startled then but he rubbed his beard contemplatively. “It was just something Alys said.”

“What exactly _did_ Alys say?” she asked sharply, and then felt embarrassed at the tinge of jealousy that seeped through her words. 

Jon hesitated before he said, “It was nothing.”

That made Sansa sure that Lady Thenn had spoken to Jon about her. “It obviously was something for you to bring it up.”

“Why have you not married, Sansa?”

Her head drew back, confused by the question. Jon had never put pressure on her to marry, had never even asked her about it, and when he was applied to by suitors, he had always stated that it was Sansa’s choice, and he had no right to decide anything for her. 

“Why do you ask?”

A distracted hand found its way into his curls, and he fussed with his hair as he looked uncomfortable.

“It’s just Alys said…Alys said…” and he trailed off, his eyes sliding to the side.

“Alys said what?”

He jumped up from the stone he was sitting on, and paced anxiously in front of the small, reflective pool, the silence building between them until Sansa felt like she could scream. 

Jon finally opened his mouth. “She said that it might because...because you have feelings for me.”

Embarrassment flooded through Sansa’s body, her face flushing bright red and her knees trembling as she got to her feet. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and she found herself yelling, “Oh, she did, did she?! And then did you both have a laugh at my expense? Poor little Sansa, so stupid as to love the one man could never love her back. The one person who barely notices her.”

She turned away before he could see the tears that welled up in her eyes, her breath ragged as she swallowed down the sob that threatened to escape. 

“Sansa, I-” Jon said before stopping. She could hear the rustling of his feet in the leaves. “Alys and I would never laugh at you. She just thought I should know.”

“She’s your lover, isn’t she?” Sansa asked before she could stop herself. 

“What?! No! It’s never been like that between Alys and I. She’s just a friend, someone who understands how difficult this new world is.”

Hunching her shoulders defensively, Sansa turned back to face him. “And I couldn’t understand?”

“I didn’t mean it like that. You have so much weight on your shoulders, Sansa, I didn’t want to add mine.”

“Your thoughts and feelings wouldn’t be a weight and it would be nice to talk to someone without wondering if I could trust them or not.”

An awkward long pause developed, where Sansa could not look at Jon, afraid of what she might see on his face.

“I do not wish for you to feel alone,” he said finally. “You can always talk to me about anything.”

“Mayhaps you could do the same.”

“I’d like that,” he said with a smile.

“I would, too. But, Jon,” Sansa said hesitantly. “I don’t want you to worry about what happened today. I know you don’t return my feelings, I have known that from the beginning.”

He moved forward then, his hands coming out to cup her shoulders, before he took a deep breath. “We could try. I could write to the Queen asking if she would sanction our betrothal and we could try.”

Her heart skipped at beat at that, a blissful dream of Jon carrying their child in his arms invaded her head for a moment before reality intruded once more, and her hand came up and rested on his forearm. “I don’t want to force you into something, into trying to return feelings that you cannot.”

“Daenerys is pressuring me already. She wants me married, and you have more and more suitors each year. At some point, both of us is going to have to marry. So why not to each other? We could try and see where it takes us. At least we’ll both be at Winterfell.”

His suggestion was taking a seductive hold. _So what if he doesn’t love you, a voice in her head said. At least you will be at Winterfell and married to a man who would never hurt you._

“But what about your lands?” 

Jon had been named Lord of the Gift once the Night’s Watch had been disbanded. It was still his job to oversee defence of the Wall, but now it was more a trading post, a border between the land the Iron Throne ruled and the land beyond, which was still home to tribes of Wildlings. 

“I would not take you from Winterfell. Not until you are ready. Besides, my lands are not that far and my household is more than capable of running itself in my absence.”

Only Jon could claim that a two-week ride was not far, but Sansa appreciated his exaggeration. 

“And you truly wish to marry me.”

“I would rather marry you than anyone else,” he said, neatly avoiding her question and brushing his fingers down one side of her face.

It was not perfect, not what she dreamed of, but it would do. 

For now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little follow up to chapter 1 as amygummmustdie asked for an unrequited feelings fic and I thought it was a good opportunity to revisit this 'verse.

Sansa crushed the kernel of guilt that seemed to currently reside in her chest. She had not forced Jon into this, he had offered. _But he offered because he felt sorry for you_ , the voice in her head whispered, causing her steps to stutter and Rickon to look up at anxiously.

_It’s too late now, anyway_ , she hissed back to the voice. And it was. For better or worse, she and Jon were getting married and she was walking towards the heart tree, past all the household retainers and those bannermen who had been able to come, towards Jon.

_But what if he hates you for this? What if he falls in love in a year or five years and instead of being able to marry her, he is tied to you?_ The persistent voice asked.

Sansa shook her head slightly, determined to get rid of the doubts. They did no good right now anyway. There was no turning back from here.

Before Sansa was aware of it, she was stood in front of the heart tree, it’s red eyes appearing to glisten with tears, as she pledged her future to Jon, and he to her. Then his black and grey cloak was swung around her shoulders and she was officially his wife.

As he closed the clasp on the cloak, Jon squeezed her shoulders gently before pressing a quick kiss to her lips to seal the marriage. The crowd behind them cheered and Jon smiled before he said, “Are you ready, my lady wife?”

Colour rushed into her cheeks at his words, but unlike her previous marriage, there was no accompanying rush of fear to swamp her with the use of the words.

“Just a moment please, my lord,” Sansa murmured, before placing her hand onto the heart tree, next to the tears of sap that ran from it’s eyes.

_Please bless this marriage_ , she prayed, _Please give Jon no reason to regret this day._

A warm feeling spread from her fingers, down her arm and into her chest, relieving her worries and chasing her fears away.

She turned to face Jon once more, and for the first time since he had proposed their match in this very spot, she felt hope.

_We will be fine_ , she thought, as she grasped his arm and her led her towards the Great Hall for the feast. 

Far away, in a cave to the North, the boy felt the tears slip down his cheeks as he pulled his mind back from the heart tree of his home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mere requested another chapter of this story and I can never resist Mere!

The two moons Jon was supposed to be away dragged into another two more and Sansa tried to stem the anxiety that plagued her constantly.

_He has not run away_ , she chanted over and over but it didn’t matter how many times she said it, she could not shake the worry that Jon was not coming back.

Queen Daenerys had called for him to attend the celebrations for her heir’s birth. As her closest living relative, she deemed his presence necessary and neither of them could object.

Jon disliked the South, she knew that. He had grumbled and complained about having to go to King’s Landing prior to leaving, but half the kingdom would be in attendance and he could not snub his aunt’s summons. However, the jealous part of the Sansa, the part that had never quite quietened even eighteen moons after her marriage to Jon, whispered to her that he had met someone else. Someone whom he could love and someone who did not tie him to her through a marriage of pity.

Rickon, young as he was, could sense that something upset her. He would sit by her side, even when she sewed for hours on end and read the lessons that Maester Samwell was teaching him quietly. It was such a contrast to her brother’s usual boisterous behaviour, but she could not but appreciate it. He was a comfort in the only way he knew how; through giving her company and obeying Winterfell’s Maester.

They were engaged in such an activity when Rickon perked up and declared, “He’s back!”

Sansa’s heart leapt in her chest for a brief moment before she realised that she could hear nothing. No gates being opening or the thunderous noise of many horseshoes on cobbled stone. Her heart sank once more.

“Who’s back?” she asked in a subdued tone. He probably just meant Alyn the cook or someone. Alyn would always sneak Rickon extra lemon cakes, aware that the little lord shared his love of the tangy sweet treat with his elder sister.

“Jon! They are half a day away.”

Her breath hitched in her throat and closed it to the words that longed to spill out, Sansa had to take a moment to regulate her breathing. “How do you know that?”

“Shaggy can sense Ghost.”

A mournful pang speared Sansa’s chest and she realised that if Lady were still alive then she too would probably know where Jon was thanks to Ghost. She didn’t dwell on the sad thoughts though. She had come to terms with Lady’s death many years ago and it no longer hurt to lay eyes on Ghost or Shaggydog.

“They will be here by the night meal?” she asked.

Rickon nodded then, a big grin on his face. “Will you be happy then, Sansa.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have been so sad and solemn since Jon left. I long to see you smile and sing once more. You always sing when Jon is here.”

Tears welled up in her eyes and she pulled Rickon in for a tight hug. He reminded her of Bran at moments like this. Bran was always sensitive to the moods of those around him.

“Aye, I will sing again.”

\----------

By the time Jon’s party had been sighted across the moors, snaking their way up the Kingsroad, twilight had begun to fall. Lanterns shone out in the crisp grey air, giving the courtyard a magical feel as Sansa and Rickon waited to greet Jon’s return.

The gates creaked open slowly. Too slowly for Sansa’s eager heart which pounded heavily in her chest. In contrast, her stomach was twisted in anxiety. Mayhaps he would not want to be home. Mayhaps some soft Southron girl with no baggage had claimed his heart whilst he was away.

As his horse led his men back into Winterfell her eyes clung to the sight of him. She could not break her gaze even as he dismounted and made his bow to Rickon, who ever heedless of the gravity of his status as Lord Stark, just leapt in his cousin’s arms and buried his face in Jon’s shoulder.

Jon’s eyes met hers and the grey depths softened even more. He put Rickon down, who went to pat Ghost, and moved towards her.

“Lady Sansa,” he said. “You look as beautiful as ever.”

“Lord Jon,” she replied. “I trust the Queen and the Lady Shireen are both well.”

“They are. Shireen has given birth to healthy baby girl.”

Sansa nodded a little mechanically. She would take an interest in Lady Shireen and Queen Daenerys’ new heir once she had finished drinking Jon in.

A slightly awkward pause fell between them before Jon surged forward and caught her up in his arms. “By the gods, I have missed you, Sansa,” he breathed into her hair.

Her hands, shaking slightly, clutched at his shoulders and she gave a queer half sob, half laugh at his words. “I wondered if you have left us for the trappings of the Targaryen court and the warm Southron weather,” she admitted.

He pulled back at that and cupped her face between his hands. “Never,” he said emphatically with a kiss on the tip of her nose. “I love you, Sansa. I may not have done when we first wed, but I adore you now.”

Tears spilled over and fell down her cheeks at his words. All those years of loving Jon from afar and the guilt of marrying him knowing he did not love her, melted away at his declaration.


End file.
